


The Candyman Can

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Dark, Deathfic, Horror, Humor, Madness, R/NC-17 - Red Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2008-04-07
Packaged: 2019-01-20 20:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Every story has to start somewhere, even The Psycho!Samatic Cycle.





	The Candyman Can

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: The first chapter of the monster known as The Psycho!Samatic Cycle. Originally written in the comments on "Straw" on LJ as an exercise in freaking each other out in turn. SLIPPERY SLOPE, guys, slippery slope. ;)  


* * *

The CID offices were hazy with the constant swirl of cigarette smoke, bitter and cloying, corrupting everything it clung to.

 

 

Sam, buried deep in a pile of paperwork, looked up as the door to Gene's office swung open with a bang.

 

 

Striding out, Gene called across to his DI. "We've found another one, Tyler."

 

 

"Another? That's the sixth this week. Where are they all coming from?"

 

 

Gene shrugged. "I do know where they're all going though."

 

 

Sam glanced round at the CID offices, now crowded deep with blonde haired girls, all staring at him with their sightless blue eyes.

 

 

"So do I," he muttered.

 

 

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINAAAATE!" The chorus of blonde girls chanted, sounding almost metallic.

 

 

Sam wasn't sure why, but all the hairs on the back of his neck now stood perfectly on end.

 

 

Gene shrugged on his coat, pausing for a second. "Funny, I thought I heard something there. Come on Tyler, are you going to stand there and stare all day?"

 

 

The sea of blonde haired parted as Gene strode to the door of CID. Sam followed in Gene's wake and the army of girls silently formed a crocodile behind Sam, two by two, hand in hand.. Clown joined with clown.

 

 

"Tim Curry hasn't got anything on this lot," Sam muttered under his breath. _Good thing I've always got my trusty knife in my pocket..._

 

 

"Yeah, a curry sounds great" shouted Gene, over his shoulder. "Let's get this blighter picked up and shipped before we head though."

 

 

"Actually, Guv, I've suddenly realised I've got other things to do tonight." Sam fingered the knife carefully. "Make it tomorrow night?"

 

 

"You're still coming to the scene?"

 

 

"Um, yes?"

 

 

"Good, I'm glad I didn't have to kick your kidneys through your nostrils. Now get in the car and shut up."

 

 

The army of ghosts all piled in to the back seat. Sam kept his eyes resolutely forward and refused to move when he felt icy fingers trailing down the back of his neck.

 

 

Sam froze in place, indecisive about whether or not he should see if Gene noticed their stowaways. Luckily, as one, they broke his indecision quite swiftly as a volley of several small ghostly clowns launched at the back of Sam's head simultaneously.

 

 

"OW! Those beady eyes HURT!" Sam yelped, rubbing the red welts the clowns had so viciously raised on the back of his neck and head.

 

 

"The ladies tell me I have a penetrating stare, but I didn't know I had that effect on you, Sammy-boy!" Gene snickered.

 

 

Sam looked mutinous, but decided not to risk making the Guv think him even more cracked than he already probably did. Besides, he didn't want anything interfering with his plans for later. He wanted---no, _needed_ tonight to go off without a hitch.

 

 

Sam was obviously jumpy at the scene. Gene kept shooting glares at him and Annie, more than once, squeezed his shoulder. "No matter how many we find, it's still a life."

 

 

Sam nodded, but not in agreement.

 

 

Gene stood in front of the small body. Her red dress flapped slightly in a gust of wind. "Why so many of them? And why are they all identical?"

 

 

"I dunno, Guv." Chris, who was looking for Clues, answered. "It's right creepy though."

 

 

Chris obviously avoided the stare of the girl's eyes as he worked, something that Sam hadn't bothered to do for weeks now. Sure enough, the wind changed and the army, almost imperceptibly, grew by one more.

 

 

"Let's hear it for Sam!" The new addition cheered, leading the whole army in a chant of "Sam, Sam, He's the Man. If Sam can't do it, no-one can!"

 

 

Sam avoided the crowd behind him, stoically. He was getting better at this.

 

 

"What I want to know is, why knife wounds?" Gene rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he stood over this most recent victim.

 

 

"Boss?" Chris looked confused. Then again, this was fairly normal, except for the times when he looked like he'd just gotten wind of a particularly foul odour.

 

 

"Well, it's clear whoever's doing this wants their blood, right? Isn't there a better way to get it than all these knife wounds? I mean, there's got to be some more modern way of doing things," Gene rolled his eyes sarcastically in the direction of Sam.

 

 

"Afraid I forgot my juicer today, Guv." Sam had the presence of mind to respond, although inwardly he had to admit Gene had a point. And Sam wished he himself had more than one.

 

 

"Aha!" Sam said aloud.

 

 

"All right, Sam?" Annie enquired, worried.

 

 

"PVC tubing!" Sam shouted, large neon bulbs flashing over his head as he had an Idea.

 

 

"I don't know what kind of strange ranks people held in Hyde, but I've never heard of such a thing." Gene hooked his thumbs in his belt loops dismissively.

 

 

Sam pursed his lips. "Never mind, Guv." but his mind was working now. What he needed was an ironmongers. He could do with a large bucket as well.

 

 

Gene snapped his fingers in front of Sam's nose. "Out with it, Tyler. What exactly are you thinking now?"

 

 

Sam shook his head and forced himself to sound natural. "It doesn't make sense. You're right. These girls, where-ever they're from, the frenzied attack. It's more the style of someone who doesn't know what they're doing. If you want their blood you slit the throat, carefully, and let the blood drain out slowly. This way is incredibly wasteful." _But oh, so much more pleasurable_ , he added silently.

 

 

Sam looked straight at Gene, who was giving him a calculating look. Sam stared back, guileless and open.

 

 

Luckily for Sam, Chris nodded. "That's how you slaughter pigs. You put 'em in the bath, slit their throat over a bucket and let the blood drain into it. Then you can make black pudding and not waste a drop. Plus, clean up is easier."

 

 

Gene sniffed. "Bath, eh? So perhaps he kills them in a bath." He paused and then said, almost plaintively, "but why?"

 

 

"Do they look like they might've been drowned prior to the exsanguination?" Sam nodded toward the small girl Gene was nearer to.

 

 

"Prior to the what?" Gene's mouth formed a small, perfect 'o' of disgust at the whole thing.

 

 

"The bloodletting." Sam was trying his best not to be distracted but oh, it was hard. _Difficult_ , he mentally corrected himself. _I'm not some sort of pervert..._

 

 

"It's possible. Judging by previous ones I'd say no, but this one seems just that little bit sloppier. Which makes me think we're closer to catching whoever's doing this. Not that they'd have to slip up for us to catch them, mind you." Gene lit up and puffed away. It helped him think, and right now, he needed that help.

 

 

Sam mentally grimaced. It was true that the last had been somewhat... unprofessional. A bad day at the office, and another heated argument with Gene, had caused his anger to spill over. He had, almost, lost control. He would have to keep a tighter grip on his emotions with the next one. Sam surreptitiously checked his watch. _A few more hours_.

 

 

Gene finished his cigarette and flicked the butt away. "We'll have to see what Oswald says. Ray, you take charge of the body - get her down to the morgue. The rest of you, back to the office. Let's see if we can get this bastard before he leaves another body for us to find."

 

 

Sam lingered a moment longer, staring into space with his brow furrowed as though in concentration.

 

 

"All right, Sammy-boy? You coming? We haven't got all day. Murder waits for no man," Gene was grim as he opened the driver's door on the Cortina.

 

 

"Sorry, I was just wondering how he finds these girls. It's eerie how similar they are, don't you think? And do you think he's supplying them with the clowns?" Sam flung his hands up to his mouth in surprise; he hadn't meant to say that bit.

 

 

"It is awfully odd the clowns are all the same..." Gene eyed Sam thoughtfully. "I suppose you'll want to go round to all the toy shops in the area and check their receipts to see who's purchased a large lot of these hideous things, won't you?" he smirked knowingly.

 

 

"I think it might be helpful, yeah," Sam nodded, relieved at seeing a way out. _You have GOT to get a better grip on yourself, Tyler. Can't blow it NOW._

* * *

As much as Sam knew there was no point, he took perverse pleasure in canvassing every toy shop in the area. "No, no-one has bought a job lot of these clowns, in fact we don't even stock them" was a response he got from each of them, but he noted it down carefully every single time.

 

 

However, it did give Sam an opportunity to do a little of his own shopping. The ironmongers couldn't help but, interestingly, the home brew shop next door could. However Sam wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with five pounds of brewing sugar that he had purchased to cover the real reason for wanting a large bucket, several metres of flexible hosing and a wooden tap.

 

 

Knowing that it would be too dangerous to take into the CID offices, especially after the conversation at the dump-site this morning, Sam took them all back to his flat.

 

 

Once there, he noticed a new problem.

 

 

"I should've bought a shower head. I can't believe I forgot." Sam smacked his forehead in anguish and, depositing his new purchases in his wardrobe just in case, he immediately turned and went out again.

 

 

While he was investigating shower heads, another perverse thought came to mind. "With all that sugar, I could try my hand at being a confectioner," he grinned, alarming a slightly deaf old lady who couldn't quite make out what he'd said but didn't think that young man looked right at _all_.

 

 

Off he went for supplies, although it was lamentable how badly stocked the cookery shops were these days, especially when compared to what he was used to. He hoped he didn't break his new mercury candy thermometer accidentally.

 

 

"Beautify the outside, beautify the inside... after all, you are what you eat!" Sam was fairly giddy at this new revelation. He had a PLAN! He had supplies! He had knowledge! And he was also indulging his joyful and unabashed consumerist side into the bargain! Really, this day couldn't get any better. He'd been so worried, too; the scene at the dump-site hadn't exactly been reassuring.

 

 

But, as every boy knows, pride always comes before a fall and Sam's fall was in the shape of Gene Hunt, whom he managed to walk into as he left the shop.

 

 

"Tyler, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Gene barked when he got his breath back.

 

 

Sam, still on a high, grinned. "Shopping, Guv. He held up the bags. "I'm going to make toffee and boiled sweets and all sorts of nice things for the kids to eat!"

 

 

Gene narrowed his eyes. "Are you quite all right, Tyler? Have you been drinking? Without me?"

 

 

Sam stilled. "Um, no, Guv. I just had an idea, that's all. It must've been going round all those toy shops. It brought the inner child out in me." He took a deep breath. _"Shit."_

 

 

"More like the inner Fanny Craddock," Gene remarked. "Come on then, Fanny, we've got another one to pick up."

 

 

Sam stilled. _Another one?_ But that was impossible. He glanced round at his constant companions, but they had no answer either.

* * *

"It's got to be a copycat, boss." Chris nodded in complete agreement with himself.

 

 

Sam started. "What makes you think that?"

 

 

Gene whirled around, eyes fixed on Chris as he tried to explain himself.

 

 

"Well, I mean, the girl isn't quite the same. She looks almost like the others, but not exactly so. Like one of those cheap knock-off dolls you can find in Woolworths." Chris looked flustered.

 

 

"How so?" Gene searched his pockets for more cigarettes and came up empty, which agitated him even further.

 

 

"Here, boss." Ray stepped up and handed him a freshly lit specimen, which Gene accepted gratefully.

 

 

"Her jumper's just a slightly different colour to the ones the other girls were wearing. Also, her hair's got more of a ginger tinge to it, wouldn't you say? Not strictly blonde. I think the clown might be different, too, but I'd have to see one of the others or a photo to be sure." Chris' words tumbled out over each other in his nervousness, and he was glad when he was through. Proud of himself for speaking out, though. He beamed uncertainly.

 

 

"Hrrm..." Gene considered the new dump-site for a moment. "What about the killing method?" he said, at last.

 

 

"That's another odd thing. Looks like she was strangled. My guess from the marks on her neck would be yarn. Her doll has yarn hair; we should see if it matches." By this point, Sam had come to his senses and was once more on-task. This was definitely a copycat, but how would Chris know? Unless... Sam eyed Chris thoughtfully.

 

 

Chris smiled back, nervously, his eyes wide and innocent, obviously looking for praise.

 

 

Sam nodded, once. "Well done, Chris. That was very observant of you."

 

 

Gene was obviously upset to find out he had two killers stalking the city. "Right, you lot. Until we find _both_ of these animals, there is no going home. Got it?"

 

 

The rest of CID sighed.

 

 

"I better cancel my date then, eh boss?" Chris murmured to Sam.

 

 

Sam grimaced, the only outward sign of the seething turmoil Gene's words had set off inside. "Yeah. Me too."

 

 

They found him by pub opening, as it happened.

 

 

A man with a known violent streak whom Phyllis was holding on remand for a series of beatings and concurrent robberies and was scheduled for a transfer to Wetherby since his sentencing as a young offender. He didn't _look_ young; his crimes had aged him considerably. It didn't take long for Sam and Chris to prise a confession from his tightly sealed lips while Gene hovered in the background, privately impressed with the level of what he felt was competence these two were showing.

 

 

Gene had frowned as the man had confessed to all the murders, even the latest one.

 

 

Sam had shrugged and put forward the suggestion that it was a smart move, faking one to look as if there were two murderers.

 

 

Once the two had extricated a full confession and learnt where this man kept his murder weapon, Sam went round to his house to collect it.

 

 

Or so he claimed. In actuality, he went back to his flat with his newly acquired candy-making kit, having gotten a very good idea from Chris' suggestion of black pudding.

 

 

About an hour later, he emerged from his flat, a look of triumph on his face. In his arm was a basket of freshly wrapped bright red lollipops, each with a little name-tag for each of CID. He couldn't wait to share his newfound hobby with his co-workers.

 

 

As almost an afterthought, he slipped an evidence bag from his pocket and, having carefully wiped down his trusty pocketknife, slipped it into the bag. It would be all right if some of his prints were on it; he was the officer who'd procured the evidence, wasn't he? He wasn't that bothered by it.

 

 

Besides, it was nearing Easter, and he had sweets to deliver.


End file.
